


A Town with an Ocean View

by TsukiNiSumu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kiki's Delivery Service, Apprentice Witch!Hinata, Daisuga own a bakery, Fluff, Ghibli AU, Kenma is a cat because why not, Lone Artist!Kageyama, M/M, Magic, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24868327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsukiNiSumu/pseuds/TsukiNiSumu
Summary: “Who the fuck are you?” The boy asks aggressively, taking a step back. “Scratch that, I don’t want to know. Why, the fuck, are you on my roof?”“I fell.” Replies Shouyou, matter-of-factly. Perhaps it’s because he’s still stunned from the crash landing, but, to him, it seems like a reasonable answer. His interlocutor does not appear to think the same, given his rapidly reddening face.“Fell from where, idiot!”Shouyou bristles as well, because what kind of question is that? It's obvious that he “Fell from my broom, of course.”Or: Hinata is an apprentice Witch in search of a town and he ends up in Karasuno. Oh, and he has a talking cat.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> _Based on Studio Ghibli’s Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989)._
> 
> You don’t need to have seen the movie to read this story, as the plot is only _loosely_ based around it ~~(although I definitely recommend you to watch it it’s the best movie of all time and I’ve never met anyone that hated it so please make sure to give it a watch)~~.
> 
> The title comes from the movie’s main theme, [_I recommend you to give it a listen._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lNk1ddf4XMI)
> 
> Also, enjoy my attempt at creating an illustration for the story. I am _definitely_ not an artist, but I tried my best.

[ ](https://ibb.co/xLpxmJB)

If you’re a resident of the small mountain village of Koriko, or by any chance you happened to stumble upon it, then you will have heard the following sentence at least once in your life: _  
The Hinata family is made of witches.  
_ If you have, then you will have been blessed with the knowledge that: 1. Magic is, powerfully, beautifully, fantastically real; and 2. Happiness and sunshine sprout and bloom like wildflowers around it.

“ _The Hinata family is made of witches”_ is never a statement that’s uttered on its own. It’s usually followed by an introduction to the members of the family (a mother, a father and two strikingly redheaded children) or, if you’re lucky enough—and that means you’ve been deemed worthy enough—you might receive directions to the Hinata household:

Down the main road, follow the path of the river and you’ll find it: a small, cozy cottage entirely emblazoned in climbing ivy, blooming flowers and, if the season is right, juicy, flavorful fruits the taste of which you’ll have never experienced before.  
The Mother Witch will prepare you tea, present you foods and recommend herbal remedies. The Father Witch will offer to read your fortune. The little Natsu will wow you with her knowledge in herbology, her skills at blooming flowers right on the spot—beware, you might walk out with a pristine daisy on your head—and her talent in befriending every breathing creature. And, finally, the little Shouyou will… charm you with his bright excitement.

 _The Hinata family is made of witches_ and they’re the pride of the village; its heart and soul. Its bright sun.  
So, it’s no wonder that, on the day of Hinata Shouyou’s eighteenth birthday, every single inhabitant of the village—old grumbling men and barely walking toddlers, small mice and huge deer—stands at the edge of the mountain, prepared to send the firstborn son off.

*

By the time Shouyou has bowed to every elder of the village, comforted every crying Grandma and joked around with all of his friends, the sun is already beginning to set behind Koriko’s mountains. Bathing the upland in a warm red glow.

The more time passes, the more Shouyou becomes restless. He fiddles with his sleeves of his brand-new robe—one that his mother has sewn, with so much love and happiness, specifically for this occasion.  
By the time he finally turns to his family, that has been waiting patiently at the outskirts of the crowd, he’s basically bouncing on his toes—almost vibrating from the sheer energy, excitement and eagerness contained in his body.

His mind is already flying above the mountain peaks, his eyes are already scouting for towns, his heart is already in motion towards the unknown, the adventure, the discovery.

Shouyou grips his broom restlessly, as his mother kisses his brow and his father gives him a last warning. Then, Natsu walks over to him. His sister’s eyes are wet and watery; in them, Hinata can see the sadness that goodbyes ignite in the soul, but he can also see sisterly envy at his chance to go and explore the world, to train in a brand new town, while ahead of her await plenty of years in the small village.

Nonetheless, Natsu hugs her older brother, squeezing him to her as close and with as much force as she can muster. They break apart and, before Shouyou’s eyes can fill with tears of their own, his sister gathers his orange satchel from the ground and, without a word, pushes it in his hands. A small head pokes out of the bag and striking golden eyes lock with Shouyou’s own. The small cat gives a resounding meow, snapping Shouyou’s out of his reverie, before disappearing inside the confines of the bag.

As if on cue, Natsu takes a step back and, at last, Shouyou is left standing alone, right at the edge of the village. Behind him, a whole world awaits. He bows one last time to the crowd he has been facing, then he turns towards the valley below.

His family and the townsfolk break out in huge cheers, some clapping, others whooping as Shouyou climbs onto his broom, a huge grin spread across his features. As always, the notion he will _fly_ prickles at his skin, but this time is different: because he won’t just fly, he’ll soar.

“ _Good luck, Shouyou._ ” The entire village screams, as the Witch crouches to the ground, feet planted firmly.

Shouyou breathes in, breathes out, pushes on the soft grass with all of his strength and, finally, he jumps.

And, at long last, Shouyou flies.

*

Flying without a destination, it turns out, is more tedious than it sounds.

For starters, by the time the familiar mountains morph out of view, the sky has already grown a dark blue that, although strikingly beautiful, prevents Shouyou from seeing much of anything below his feet. Sometimes, he’ll spot the telling lights of a town, the glimmers of civilization sending sparks down his spine—thus sparking his zealous instincts to land and go check out each and every one of them.

If he still hasn’t succumbed to his eagerness to find a new town to fulfill his three-year apprenticeship is solely thanks to Kenma, his cat.

Kenma is Shouyou’s familiar: a small, tabby cat with striking golden eyes, who spends most of his time napping or playing by himself. Or, to the displeasure of anyone who isn’t Shouyou, talking to his owner in a small, meowy voice that only Shouyou can decipher. It’s thanks to that voice that, as established, Shouyou still hasn’t succumbed to his fervent instincts, whispering cruelly in his overly-enthusiastic ears.

“ _You said you wanted to fly further from home_.” Reminds him Kenma for the fourth time ever since they’ve taken off. The cat’s head barely peaks out of Shouyou’s satchel, his body tucked entirely in the comfort of the bag.

“But look at the bright lights!” Whines Hinata, eyes glimmering with eagerness as he spots the sparkling lights of a city, amidst the darkness of fields of crops. “There’s so many, Kenma. It must be a _big_ city! _The biggest_ we’ve seen so far. It’s calling to us. I know it.”

The tabby cat’s head juts out a little bit further, eyes squinting at the bright lights. It does not, in fact, seem a big city. Quite the opposite, really: the lights, although bright, are few and far between and the streets are empty, with no cars travelling to and fro. Kenma chatters harshly—sounding just like any cat would—before retreating to his self-claimed cocoon. Not deigning Shouyou of further attention.

“ _Waaah_ , Kenma; that’s rude!” Sputters Shouyou, a small frown settling on his features. Yet, he flies on, past the city—If not without any disappointment.

It’s not until he spots another conglomerate of lights, that Shouyou begins howling for Kenma again. The cat meowls indignantly from inside the bag, refusing to come out to check the “Biggest town yet! Look, Kenma, this is a real city, I promise!”

He’s still coaxing his cat out of the bag, legs dangling back and forth excitedly—dangerously and recklessly jostling the broom front and back, front and back—when Shouyou hears a snicker. One that _definitely_ does not come from Kenma.

Close by, for the first time in Shouyou’s life, is flying a Witch that does not belong to his family.

Under the feeble moonlight, Shouyou can just about make up their slender form as the Witch approaches. The other Witch, too, seems to be struggling to make out Shouyou’s appearance because, after a few beats of awkward silence between them, Shouyou’s new flying companion raises one hand and _fire_ sprouts in their palm.

Shouyou reels back on his broom at the sight, almost tumbling into a full in-flight somersault. Shouyou has never been particularly good at witchcraft, having shown no particular attitude towards herbology, botany nor any form of divination. But _fire magic_ … that he’s never even _heard_ of.

The fellow Witch giggles, clearly satisfied with the incited reaction. Now that there’s light—because, _yes_ , the fire is still burning, despite the constant breeze and the humidity of being so far up from the ground—Shouyou can see that his companion is a boy about the same age as he is, maybe a year older, or maybe not. His black hair has been shaped in a clean and orderly bowl cut, with straight bangs almost reaching his mischievous, yet determined eyes. The Witch wiggles his fingers, sending small sparks flying from his palm, and then his eyebrows raise expectantly, anticipating Shouyou’s reaction.

“Impressive, huh?” He finally says, and at that, Kenma lazily peaks out of the satchel to see for himself. The Witch notices the movement and his hand moves closer to the cat, “Impressive, right?!” He goads, this time directly to Shouyou’s familiar. Kenma, thoroughly unimpressed, returns back inside, but Shouyou is vibrating with enough excitement for the both of them, as he exclaims an awestruck: “So cool!! You’re an elemental witch? I’ve never seen one before.”

The Witch goads for a couple more seconds, moving the fire between his palms, underneath Shouyou’s _oohs_ and _aahs_. He snaps his fingers and yet more sparks fly outwards, like bite sized fireworks.

“What else can you do??” Asks Shouyou and the boy’s fire falters, sputtering a few ashes. Under the moonlight and the dying fire, Shouyou can still see a faint blush spread across the Witch’s cheeks as he admits, voice small and grumbly: “Only this,” then he pipes up, shoulders straightening, and adds “ _for now_! I’m still training.”

Shouyou’s face breaks into a huge smile as he lets the Witch know that he, too, is about to begin his training.

“I figured,” grumbles the Witch. By now, the city lights are approaching and they almost steal Shouyou’s breath away more than the Witch’s magic did. Because Shouyou was right, the city is, in fact, enormous: lights of numerous different colors flicker and flash and the streets are filled with cars whose headlights add to the mingling of radiance. Shouyou’s heart thumps loudly in his chest at the sight. His soul is screaming to him that this is his choice, this is the town for him, this is—

“Well, I better get going.” Says the Witch with a sigh, a swaggering sort of tone returning in his voice. The Witch smirks, proudly, and points at Shouyou’s city. “This is my town. _Shiratorizawa_ , ever heard of it?”

Shouyou blinks, stunned, and the Witch takes it as a no, so he takes the opportunity to goad and brag and explain the city’s features with pride and fondness. But, as they near the bustling city, Shouyou is only half listening. Because if this fellow Witch is doing his apprenticeship here, that means this can’t be _Shouyou’s town_. For there can only be one Witch per town.

“—and the blacksmith, Ushijima-san, is so cool and I’m sure one day he’ll let me work the forge with my magic and not—” the Witch stops, cocks his head to the side and puffs out his cheeks in annoyance, “well if you don’t care about what I’ve got to say you could’ve just said so, newbie.”

Shouyou blinks in confusion, his eyes still trained on the approaching city of Shiratorizawa. The boy flying at his side huffs and puffs a little, before drifting towards the lights, his head held up high.

“Well, I gotta go,” he says, refusing to meet Shouyou’s eyes.

He elegantly angles his broom in a perfect position to begin his descent, before adding “I’m Goshiki Tsutomu, by the way. You’ll hear more about me in the future, rest assured.”

“I’m Hinata Shouyou—” he replies, but Shouyou isn’t sure Goshiki heard him, as the boy is already plummeting at full force towards the city, swooping in great, big, refined arches.

“ _Tsk_ ,” hisses Kenma, his small head pushing out of the satchel once again, “ _what a show off_.”

Shouyou pouts in response, gripping his broom tighter; eyes trained on the beautiful city that is now spreading mightily underneath his feet.

“ _It’s for the better,_ ” Kenma chirrups, “ _this one’s too big, too monumental. It wouldn’t have been the right fit._ ”

And, because it’s rare to hear Kenma console him—as it is rare to hear Kenma talk so much—Shouyou believes him. He kicks his legs in the air, attempting to create a momentum strong enough to propel them forward—away from Shiratorizawa’s intimidating magnitude—but all Shouyou achieves is his broom tipping forward, forcing him and Kenma to scramble for purchase.

Kenma meowls in contempt and hides back inside.

*

The Witch and his Familiar travel tirelessly for the better part of the night.

It turns out that, outside Shiratorizawa, there’s nothing more than fields of crops, empty areas and small villages. So, they move along.  
Shouyou’s eyes eventually adjust to the darkness, granting him the chance to employ a new favorite game of his: count the crop fields. Kenma refuses to join in the game.

Although searching for a town results tedious and disappointing, flying long distances proves to be everything he’s ever wanted. It’s freeing and so, so ecstatic. It’s elating and it sends thrills of happiness down his spine.

When Kenma isn’t looking, Shouyou spreads his arms wide like wings, letting the wind whip around them; and he whoops and laughs and cheers.

What Shouyou isn’t expecting, however, is to see the first lights of morning from his spot in the sky. One second, it’s dark and the stars are up ahead. The next, a small, feeble red glow meets Shouyou’s eyes, timidly inching upwards, almost shy to greet him. Eventually, though, the sun rises, casting warm light all around Shouyou; it reaches the clouds, the flying birds, the houses, the fields.

And Shouyou’s always believed that there’s nothing more awestriking than seeing the sun rise from the mountains back home, but here, flying, the view from the top is breathtaking.

Shouyou and Kenma watch the sunrise in reverent silence, even Shouyou’s ever-present fidgeting comes to a halt in front of such a beauty. Uncharacteristically, it’s Kenma that breaks the silence first. The small familiar breaking in loud meowls, so uncharacteristic of him. Shouyou’s head snaps to his cat worriedly.

“ _Look, Shouyou! Look_!” He says, his black nose scrunching to indicate up ahead. Shouyou’s eyes follow Kenma’s line of sight and he squeaks in delight as the sight in the distance.

A wide stretch of water glimmers in the early morning light, flocks of birds flying above it and, up ahead, a city of lively, vibrant colors, shrouded entirely in the orange glow of the sunrise.

And Shouyou whoops loudly, veering right, towards his new town.

*

The descent proves difficult. Kenma—given the early hours of the morning and knowing Shouyou—suggests they land on the outskirts of town, in order to make less of a ruckus.

Shouyou is tired, his muscles ache, and, to be honest, he’s never been particularly great at sticking the landing. On top of that, Shouyou encounters a flock of nasty looking crows on his way down. They menacingly flap their wings around him and caw in his direction, almost chiding him for interrupting their flight.

Kenma watches anxiously, half hidden in the comfort of the satchel, but eyes still vigilantly trained on the outside world. He instructs Shouyou on what to avoid (“ _Shouyou, the tree!_ ”, “ _Shouyou careful of the branch!_ ”, “ _You’re too close to that roof!_ ”), but once the crows come, Kenma has no choice but to retreat inside the bag. Leaving Shouyou to fend for himself.

And so, it’s no surprise that he lands—

On someone’s roof.

The sheer impact is enough to make him fall to his hands and knees, sending his broom flying to the edge of the roof. The thump of Shouyou’s body colliding with the tiles is loud enough that Shouyou cringes and hopes—begs every god and spirit he knows of—that the house he just tumbled onto is abandoned, or empty.

He barely has any time to look at his surroundings; spotting only a few houses here and there, a strip of green land on one side of the house and, on the other, dazzling and beautiful: the ocean, shimmering and sparkling in the morning sun.

Then, before he can register it, something—someone—is angrily shouting in his direction, hitting his feet with what feels like a broom.

“Damned crows,” the voice says and blindly thumps at Shouyou’s legs, “damned _fucking_ crows.”

Kenma, for the first time since their departure from Koriko, plops out of the satchel entirely. Body tense and defensive, hackles raised.

The person below swats the broom toward the roof for a second time, hitting Shouyou’s leg with another _thump_. Kenma hisses angrily. Still wobbly from the impact, Shouyou opts to push his body closer to the edge of the roof, where the broom keeps popping up. Hands holding steady to the edge, he moves to peak underneath.

What he finds is not, in fact, what the Witch was expecting to find: he was expecting an angry, old Grandpa, with white hair and wrinkly skin. In his stead, Shouyou finds himself face to face with a handsome boy, about Shouyou’s own age—he’s _definitely_ just as angry as Shouyou had pictured the Grandpa to be, but he’s also infinitely more attractive and alluring.

From the boy’s appalled face, it’s clear that he, too, was expecting to find something completely different. Perhaps he expected a flock of angry crows, but got an orange haired Witch in their stead.

“Who the fuck are you?” The boy asks, aggressively, taking a step back. He doesn’t look relieved to see that he won’t have to battle crows, nor does he look just as intrigued as Shouyou feels at making this new acquaintance. If anything, the boy looks… angrier.

“Scratch that, I don’t want to know who you are.” The boy corrects himself. His blue eyes are intense and forceful, his black hair looks still tousled from sleep. He’s also still wearing what Shouyou would consider a pajama. Despite the sleepy eyes, the bedhead and the rugged pajama, the boy is wholly captivating and beautiful; in a dangerous, deadly kind of way. Kenma does not seem to think the same, as the small cat hisses more powerfully, back raising even higher. “Why, _the fuck_ , are you on my roof?”

“I fell.” Replies Shouyou, matter-of-factly. Perhaps it’s because he’s still stunned from the crash landing, but, to him, it seems like a reasonable answer. His interlocutor does not appear to agree, given his rapidly reddening face.

“Fell from where, idiot!” Kenma huffs and puffs, but the blue-eyed boy doesn’t seem to even notice the tabby cat, too busy looking at Shouyou’s face.

Shouyou bristles as well, because what kind of question is that? It’s _obvious_ that he “Fell from my broom, of course.”

The boy looks about to pop a blood vessel, his face is red and he’s gripping his own broom with as much force as Shouyou thinks it’s humanly possible. Then, his grip releases and the boy’s shoulders sag. He sighs, tiredly, and moves away from the roof.

“I’m going back to sleep, get the fuck off my roof.” He says and makes to step inside, but something in Shouyou is compelling him to keep talking to this boy—his first ever interaction in his new town, Shouyou’s town.

“Wait!” Shouyou squeaks out and Kenma looks so dumbfounded that he halts his huffing and puffing to turn to judgingly stare at him.

“What.” The boy says, voice grumbly. Now that he’s not so red faced anymore—Shouyou wonders what made him snap out of it—he can see just how tired the boy looks and he feels guilty to have disturbed his sleep. But a bowl cut and resolute eyes flash in Shouyou’s mind and the Witch _needs_ to know.

“Is there,” the boy’s stare is so penetrating, that Shouyou flounders “a Witch here, already?”

The boy balks, then hesitates. When he speaks, his voice is guarded, defensive and he’s not meeting Shouyou’s eyes: “Why would there be a Witch.”

Hinata is basically vibrating at this point, he looks at the beautiful sea in front of him, to the waking city on his right, to the beautiful boy in front of him and he knows, he _knows_ he wants to stay in this town. He really, really wants to stay.

“So,” he can’t conceal his excitement anymore, it seeps in his voice and in his eyes, that he can feel grow wider “so, there isn’t one!”

Something akin to understanding settles on the boy’s features and he grimaces, before grumbling a “No, guess not.”

Shouyou’s up on his feet, almost dancing on the roof from the sheer happiness, when the door to the house closes with a loud _thump_.

*

Shouyou gets to see the ocean town wake up. He walks the street with an awestruck expression plastered on his face. Watches as the townspeople walk out of their homes, greet each other, open up their shops.

The town is already the most populated and bustling place he’s ever witnessed. However, the higher the sun rises, the more cheery individuals appear, strolling through the streets overlooking the ocean, pastries in their hands. Or shouting at each other while lugging heavy crates and parcels. Shouyou itches to jump on his broom and spectate all of it from up above, but he stays planted on the ground, as he promised Kenma he would.

The tabby cat sits on his satchel, small enough to balance his little body entirely on the bag and it’s perhaps that—and the sight of Shouyou’s bright orange hair, unusual dark blue robes and broom in hand—that garners him so many stares.

Shouyou pays the stares no mind, for his parents warned him it would happen (“ _That’s the life of an apprentice Witch_ ”). Still, the sun is warm, the ocean breeze is soothing and the town smells of baked goods and fresh air and, walking amongst so many people after a life in a small village, makes Shouyou feel like he belongs to something bigger, like he’s about to become a cog in a much more significant apparatus.

Not everything is enjoyable, though: for starters, the streets are littered with cars, whose motors gurgle and sputter loudly, making the Witch jump every time they pass close by. There’s also what he learns is called a “streetcar” that terrifyingly climbs the length of the main street, a bell thrilling at every stop. On top of that, Shouyou’s _tired_. He’s been traveling all night and now that he found what he was looking for, he realizes that he can’t quite relax yet. That, installing himself in this gorgeous but foreign town, is going to be trickier than he dreamed it to be.

No one is welcoming him with open arms, stopping him in the street to fawn over him. No one is even approaching him to make sure he’s okay, in his foreign clothes and dazedly lost stare. Rationally, Shouyou knows he has to find a place to stay and a place to work at. He knows that, although the Hinatas left him a small sum of money—just enough to get by for the first few days—eventually they’ll run out. And Shouyou will be left, utterly, terrifyingly alone.

But what can a new Witch even do, to find a job?  
Shouyou wishes he could jump on the nearest statue and introduce himself to the townspeople, but when he pitches the idea to Kenma, the cat simply meowls in disapproval.

Kenma, it turns out, does not want to garner too much attention (“ _There’s nothing wrong with gathering attention, Kenma_ ” chides Shouyou). Still, Shouyou tries approaching an older lady once, introducing himself formally, and all he obtains is a fierce scowl and a _tsk_. So, the Witch decides to stick to his Familiar’s plan.

Eventually, the main streets grow too overwhelming, too crowded, for the likes of someone who prefers flying amongst birds to walking at frustrating paces. And the duo—as suggested by Kenma—moves to side streets and alleyways. It’s in one of said alleys that the mouth-watering aromas of newly baked goods wafts over Shouyou’s nose. His stomach grumbles loudly and even Kenma’s golden eyes brighten extensively. Without realizing it, Shouyou’s feet move towards the source of the smell.

Eventually, he turns onto a lesser populated main road, at the top of a small hill. Immediately, Shouyou spots the heavenly sight of a fully stocked bakery shop window. Breads and cakes and sweets all line the displayed shelves and Shouyou longs for the taste of each and every item, but, before he can approach the shop, something else catches his eye.

Right next to the shop is a white truck, grey smoke coming out of it. Three men are huddled around it, in various states of distress. Unable to help himself—and his curiousity—Shouyou moves towards them. He’s able to catch only few snippets of the conversation, but he gauges that the truck—whose owner is definitely the more distraught of the three, his hands grabbing at his longer hair strands and pulling, hard—broke down minutes before the beginning of his shift. The other two people, who are doing more to console the man, than help fix the truck, are what Shouyou assumes to be the owners of the bakery. They’re comforting and supporting the bigger, taller (and on the verge of tears?) man, who pats the trunk of the truck tenderly.

“It will be okay, Asahi-san.” Says one of the owners. From his spot on the sidewalk, Shouyou can see just how kind his hazel eyes are. “Daichi can do the deliveries in your stead and we’ll work on fixing—” he scratches his head, unsure “whatever’s wrong with your truck.”

Asahi-san balks, his already distressed expression worsening tenfold “I’d be hindering your work! Who would man the shop?”

The last man, who Shouyou assumes to be Daichi, is about to interject when Shouyou lights up and chimes in, his toes slightly bouncing on the spot: “I can do it! I can deliver it!”

The three men turn to look at him at the same exact time. The silver haired man—whose name Shouyou still hasn’t leant—smiles kindly in his direction as the other two appraise him puzzledly. “Unless you’ve got a truck hidden somewhere, kid, there isn’t much you can do. But thank you.”

Shouyou frowns, but refuses to give up. It’s his chance to make his first acquaintances in the town and these men seem friendly enough to even entertain him in conversation. “I can deliver it, I swear! I just need a map; I can go right now!”

“ _Slow down, Shouyou_.” Kenma chides thoughtfully; to the three men, the cat simply sounds like a complaining kitten. Shouyou nods to his friend.

“Listen kid,” Daichi interposes “it’s kind of you to want to help, but I’m not sure you can.”

Shouyou stubbornly digs his feet in the ground and Kenma huffs in discontent, already predicting what’s about to happen. The cat slips inside the satchel under the amused gaze of the silver haired man.

“But I can help!” the Witch petulantly insists “I can fly anywhere you need me to go.”

The silver haired man _positively lights up_ at that. Eyes growing wide and interested. While the two man respectively look perplexed (Daichi, with his arms sternly crossed and a slight frown) and terrified (the tall man, Asahi-san). To prove his point, Shouyou climbs onto his broom and pushes against the cobblestone pavement.

He floats up, up above their heads, but doesn’t let himself fly too far away from the ground, just a respectable amount above the three men’s heads. He moves to and fro, even attempting a somersault that does not end well. The kind man claps delightedly at the display, eyes sparkling with incredulity and pure amazement. Daichi looks positively taken aback and Asahi-san is… hiding behind his own truck in sheer, unbridled alarm.

The silver haired man halts his clapping to whisper something in Daichi’s ear and the sterner man nods, if with some sort of uncertainty. By the time Shouyou’s landed on the ground, the silver haired man has run back inside the shop. The Witch takes it as rejection and, if unwillingly, is about to apologize for whatever mistake he’s made and leave; yet, before he can attempt any of that, the kind man returns, hands full.

Daichi approaches, a serious expression still plastered on his face as he takes some of the parcels out of the other owner’s hands. His stare then pierces through Shouyou’s and fixes him in place—cheeks red from embarrassment, hands grabbing the broom. “We can trust you, right?” The shop owner says and Shouyou nods fitfully. The kind man beams at him.

“Okay! Here’s the town’s map; hold on, one second, I just need to—” the silver haired man busily scribbles two bright red circles in two close spots of the stylized drawing. The map is old, faded, like it hasn’t been needed in a long time. At the very top, an orange and red text spells “ _TOWN of KARASUNO_ ” in loopy handwriting. The silver haired man hands it to him with a lopsided grin, eyes still sparkling. “Here’s your first delivery, and here’s your second. Don’t get them mixed up!”

Next to him, Daichi still doesn’t look entirely sure of the entire ordeal, but all it takes is one unguarded smile from the other man and the stern shop owner relaxes. “We wouldn’t be asking this of you, if it weren’t an emergency, but thank you. Come back here after you’re done.”

Shouyou takes off amidst the silver haired guy’s cheers and the Witch excitedly waves them off, before opening up the town’s map.

“See, Kenma?” He says, drifting towards the ocean. “I knew we could do it!”

*

Shouyou’s first deliveries go better than he could ever imagine. The first delivery is for a bald man named Tanaka, who owns a fish store by the sea. Upon learning he’s a Witch (“ _I’ve always known you guys existed! Wait 'til Nishinoya finds out!_ ”) he demands to see all of Shouyou’s tricks on the broom—admittedly, there aren’t many the Witch can pull off without plummeting head-first to the ground, but Tanaka doesn’t need to know that. The man hollers at him from the ground, thrilled and exhilarated.

His second delivery is to Nishinoya himself, a fisherman whose initial reaction is decidedly more lukewarm than that of Tanaka’s; noticeably upset at Asashi’s absence. Eventually, the man warms up to the idea of having Shouyou deliver his eight meat bread rolls and even shows him his boat, named “Rolling Thunder” (“ _Cool name, huh? It’s a cool name, isn’t that right Shouyou?_ ”). Shouyou even finds out that the two are business partners, with Tanaka selling Nishinoya’s catches.

By the time Shouyou flies back to the bakery, the sun is high up in the middle of the sky and his stomach is grumbling audibly. From the shop’s window, the silver haired man waves to him, signaling him to walk inside. A small bell sound announces the Witch’s entrance in the shop and immediately the two owners invite him to sit at the table in the back, thanking him for his help.

The baker, whose name he learns to be Sugawara (“ _But please, call me Suga._ ”), settles a warm bun in front of Shouyou and a tiny bowl of milk for Kenma, who appreciatively slurps it down.

Suga asks Shouyou about his origin, his background and his intentions and Shouyou talks and talks between bites of the warm buns the baker keeps offering him. When he’s done, Suga shares a knowing look with Daichi—who’s been walking in and out of the backroom, alternating between listening to Shouyou’s story and manning the till at the storefront.

“Listen, Shouyou, Asahi-san isn’t our delivery boy, he’s just a hauler who helps us whenever he can, but, if you’re willing—” and Suga doesn’t have the time to finish, because Shouyou is already standing up, bouncing on his feet and chanting strings upon strings of “yes! Yes!”

“Let him finish, kid.” Chides Daichi, but he’s not as serious and uptight as earlier that morning. He’s smiling, amused at the exchange.

“We could also offer you a place to stay, we have an unused barn next to our storage, you’d have to work on it—” but Shouyou is already nodding enthusiastically. He appreciatively bows to them, over and over again. Even Kenma joining him, bowing his little head up and down a couple of times, out of gratitude.

“Alright then,” says Daichi, walking Shouyou to his new home “welcome to Karasuno!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shouyou settles in Karasuno, makes new friends (and an enemy?) and becomes acquainted with the blue-eyed painter he really, really does not care about.

Under Sugawara and Daichi’s care, Shouyou effortlessly settles in Karasuno. In a little over two weeks, the Witch constructs a functioning routine: delivering for the bakery in the early mornings and, when requests are scarce, assisting at the cash register.

During his first week, Shouyou spends his afternoons crouched on a stool behind the bakery’s counter, with Kenma by his side—playing mindlessly with toys or yarn. Daichi makes the most of his newfound time by reorganizing and stocking the storeroom, while Sugawara can finally bake to his heart’s content; a relaxed, happy smile constantly plastered on his flour smudged face.

Nevertheless, it’s not long until word of the Delivery Witch spreads in the quaint, but talkative town and, by the beginning of the second week, people eventually start approaching Shouyou for jobs unrelated to the bakery. Sugawara—much to his baker’s chagrin—assures Shouyou that “ _Of course you can take on other jobs, Hinata. I’ll man the register while you’re away._ ”, but Shouyou can see the way Sugawara’s fingers curl around the new recipe he was itching to try. He refuses. Which results in days filled with Daichi’s lectures as he attempts to convince the Witch that no, a couple of hours a day working behind the counter won’t hinder Sugawara’s baking enthusiasm.

In the end, it’s not Daichi’s coaxing skills, nor Sugawara’s reassuring smiles that persuade Shouyou. Instead, it’s Ryūnosuke Tanaka.

The fishmonger walks in the bakery one late afternoon, red faced and stuttering, with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. The flowers hang crookedly to one side—what with the deadly way Tanaka clutches at the stems—and it takes Sugawara one good look at the already wilting flowers to spur him onwards, rescuing the gorgeous red and pink carnations from their prison. Tanaka wastes no time before he begins begging Shouyou for his help: requesting a flower delivery to Kiyoko, the owner of the Art Store a few streets from the bakery proper.

Perhaps it’s Tanaka’s earnest eyes or the desperation with which he had held the flowers. Or perhaps it’s the two bakery owners’ gentle teasing (“ _You made it all the way here, Tanaka. Kiyoko-san’s shop is right around the corner._ ”) that eventually crack his resolutions. In any case, Shouyou finally agrees to a non-bakery-related delivery.

True to Daichi’s words, the art store is only a few streets away from the bakery. Shouyou delivers the flowers (that Sugawara insisted on replenishing in water beforehand) to the flustered and incredulous shop-owner, Kiyoko-san. She takes Shouyou into her orderly store as she hurries to find a suitable vase. Among the different kinds of paints and canvasses, Shouyou finds himself unable to dissent when the modest, but beautiful Kiyoko tells him that, despite the oftentimes lack in clientele, she’ll contact him if she’ll ever need to deliver something.

Somehow, word of his agreement with Kiyoko gets out and, before Shouyou knows it, Karasuno’s shop owners come knocking at the bakery’s door—one by one—petitioning to employ him. They all leave with a business card (the bakery’s one, with a hastened “ _And Shouyou’s Delivery Service”_ at the bottom, in Daichi’s neat lettering) and fresh pastries that, somehow, Sugawara has succeeded in selling each time.

The first to approach Shouyou following the flower delivery, is the florist herself, Yachi. A petite woman with kind eyes, an eager smile and daffodil-yellow hair. The two of them bond over herbology (Yachi’s eyes sparkling at the Witch’s seeming lack of deeper knowledge on the matter) and, before he knows it, he’s striking a deal with her: deliveries in exchange for herbalism and botany lessons. Which might not sound like a fair deal, but to a (hopeless) witch in training it’s something akin to a gold mine.

In a matter of days, Shouyou switches from being the bakery’s delivery-boy and assistant, to becoming the town’s courier _and_ bakery’s assistant. Solely delivering Sugawara’s confections in the mornings, then delivering flowers, books, letters to Karasuno’s townspeople in the afternoons and, when free, helping behind the counter.

Yachi also stays true to her words and, in no time, the two take up botany lessons in Yachi’s flower shop, while Kenma naps under big, green plant leaves or hisses at small insects buzzing too close to him.

*

Feeling Karasuno’s sea breeze on his skin becomes almost like second nature to Shouyou.  
The white seagulls tumble in the sky alongside him as he zips around town. Easy smiles and laugh lighting up his face.

Sea-salt air and baked goods replace fresh grass and dew in Shouyou’s definition of “ _home_ ”.

Before he realizes it, Shouyou’s first month of apprenticeship has come and gone. Sugawara and Daichi celebrate it by spending their Sunday morning and afternoon painting Shouyou’s barn a muted, but homely, sky blue.

Yachi shows up with dried up flower petals and herbs to add to Shouyou’s botanical arsenal. Together, they attempt to brew Shouyou’s first even potion and—when Asahi stops by to shyly say hello—they all subject the fellow courier to its taste test. He doesn’t die, so Shouyou and Yachi rule it as a success.

Sea-salt air, baked goods, friends.  
His new home.

(Yet, Shouyou can’t quite shake the feeling that something’s missing.)

*

It’s a normal Tuesday afternoon when Shouyou and Kenma are sent to make a flower delivery—one hundred white roses and a big card that spells “ _Please forgive me!_ ”—on the outskirts of town. It’s the first time Shouyou has had to steer this far away from Karasuno’s bustling center and he can’t help but feel his heart thrum at the idea of exploring farther.

The client’s house is right by the coastline, bordered by the beach on one side and by long, endless fields of grass and wheat on the other. Shouyou can’t help but wonder what it would be like to live in such a place, to have empty grass and wheat fields all to oneself. No towns, nor busy streets bustling with cars and trolleys. Just the endless freedom that comes with pure, untouched nature.

For a brief, barely-there moment, the Witch finds himself missing home; missing the mountains he had always considered too tranquil, too quiet.

He’s briefly overtaken by an unreserved jealousy for the people living on the other side of the door. He knocks and, as he waits, lets himself daydream about the owners; how tranquil they must feel, how peaceful. He is certainly not prepared for the mix of fury and rage that opens the door. The man eyes Shouyou’s white roses and groans so loudly that it manages to wipe Shouyou’s smile right off his face—a feat incredible in itself.

Despite his small stature—he’s even slightly smaller than Shouyou—he seems to be made of molten, unbridled ire and Shouyou can only watch in utter shock as his client grabs the bouquet of white roses (the same bouquet Yachi spent the entire morning desperately trying to collect and arrange) and, without any care, tosses it right into the sea.

“Tell that _bastard_ to keep his dumb roses,” he says and, before Shouyou can retort, the door has been slammed in his face.

The Delivery Witch debates whether he should knock again and talk some sense into the man. But, by now, the roses are floating sadly on the water surface and Kenma simply shakes his small head no. All that’s left for them is to fly back towards Karasuno, in defeat.

It’s only mere minutes later, when the empty green and golden fields make way to green, bushy trees, that he sees it: a small cottage, half hidden by greenery.

Stark blue eyes immediately light up in Shouyou’s mind and, disobediently, his broom nosedives out of his own volition. In an incredible show of strength, the broom refuses all of Shouyou’s steerings and commands and, in the end, all that the Witch can is hold onto the wood and brace himself for impact as he plunges below.

The landing is… questionable at best, as was narrowly avoiding the edge of the roof under Kenma’s disdained meowls and hisses.

“You still have to work on your control.” His cat grumbles, small head carefully peeking out from Shouyou’s orange bag. But his friend isn’t listening to him anymore, his eyes trained onto the house and clearing. Letting curiosity get the best of him, Shouyou dismounts his broom and—

The feeling overtakes him immediately: _complete, utter respite_.

It snakes its way up Shouyou’s spine, lulling him along as he takes in his surroundings.

The house is encased in silence, save for the sound of ocean waves crashing on the shore and the occasional bird call. The cottage is small, made up of what Shouyou guesses to be just a couple of rooms, but the surrounding nature makes up for it: thick trees litter the clearing and, a few ways ahead, Shouyou can spot a small strip of bright yellow sand and grey rocks. However, what truly makes Shouyou’s bright brown eyes sparkle is the _air’s smell_. A mix of fresh, salty water and a musky, forest-like scent that simultaneously propels him home, in the mountains, and grounds him here, by the sea.

It’s past and present. Perfectly slotting together.  
It makes Shouyou feel alive, makes him want to bounce around, dance amongst the trees. He wants to take his broom and fly with the crows above the house, then pirouette up and up over the ocean, only to plunge down towards the water like a seagull.

He wants to breathe and experience and _live_ this corner in the world. A place where the tree leaves dance in the ocean breeze and crows nest on roofs. Where seagulls cry to each other and the sea inhales and exhales over a boundless, empty beach.

Jealousy rears its ugly head once again and—though his mother taught him better than this—Shouyou can’t help but stand on his tippy toes and peek inside the house through the nearest window.

His heart, that had been soaring with excitement, sinks.

The cottage is everything it’s _not_ supposed to be: empty, forlorn, completely devoid of life.

From his peeping spot, Shouyou can see what he assumes to be a living room; except it’s impossible to tell for sure, since the room is completely bare. A lonely sofa looms in the center, over a gloomy, threadbare carpet. A coffee table balances precariously with two legs on top of the carpet and two legs off of it. On the opposite side of the room, Shouyou can discern what looks to be a kitchen. It’s all static, dark, uninviting.

There’s no sign of life, no sign of soul.

It’s a stark contrast to its surroundings that ooze vitality, energy, inspiration.

And, while the contrast in itself is jarring enough, Shouyou’s can’t help but compare it new home: the barn that Suga-san and Daichi-san have been helping him fix up. The cottage does look inhabited—definitely more so than Shouyou’s one-month old home does—it’s utterly, incredibly devoid of spirit.

“ _You shouldn’t be here_ ,” chides Kenma, his golden eyes appraising. And Shouyou can’t help but wonder whether the cat feels it too, this unreserved emptiness that’s oozing out of the house’s window.

“You’re right,” Shouyou answers instead, for magic teaches you that, sometimes, saying something out loud is a fate worse than doubt.

Neither of them speaks as Shouyou hops back onto his broom, goes through the motions of departure and swerves towards the ocean.

It’s only after some somersaults over the ocean waves, letting the sea salt water reinvigorate him like his mother’s special teas used to, that Shouyou finally sighs out: “I don’t know what I expected.”

Kenma, carefully nestled in his bag, notes that “ _Perhaps it wasn’t a what, but a_ who.”

And if Shouyou’s cheeks burn, it’s just because the sun above is very bright and very hot.

*

Despite his disinclination, Shouyou is again requested to deliver to the angry man by the beach only a few days after their disastrous first meeting. Shockingly, the new request does not come from Yachi, but from Yamaguchi Tadashi, a candy-store owner down by the port.

The two of them haven’t interacted plenty, having only chatted a few times in the afternoons Yamaguchi would come buy Sugawara’s bread. Similarly, Shouyou has delivered for Tadashi only once: when the shop-owner, too busy with his work, enlisted his help to return some books to the town’s library.

(The librarian, a sarcastic and snappy blond, hadn’t taken happily to Shouyou’s impromptu substitution and Yamaguchi hadn’t asked him ever since.)

So, it’s quite shocking to see him stand in front of the counter, a huge basket of what look to be his signature chocolates grasped in his hands. The light-colored toffees glimmer underneath the transparent film that Yamaguchi carefully wrapped over the basket.

“Hinata-san,” the freckled man bows to him (as low as one can bow whilst holding a huge basketful of chocolates) “May I enlist your help.”  
Shouyou is up and about in a matter of seconds, already scrolling out of his apron in exchange for the cream and orange straw hat Suga-san bought him.

Yet, the Witch immediately regrets his eagerness once Yamaguchi circles, in bright red pencil, the menacing beach house on Shouyou’s map. It’s too late to back out, though, because Tadashi has already placed his basket on the bakery’s counter and is staring expectantly down at him.

That’s how Shouyou finds himself standing on that very same house’s porch, with a basketful of chocolates in his hands and a new card that this time reads “ _I really am sorry, please forgive me Yaku_ ” in fervent, dizzy writing. There’s even a couple of broken hearts crudely drawn at the edges of the paper.

If anything, the short blond reacts with even more rage at the sight of the basket in Shouyou’s hands. The door is, once again, slammed harshly in his face, but not before the man belts out an indignant “Tell that idiot to come back with our cat, or not come back at all!”

Shouyou does not know who the “idiot” even is, but he fears for their safety all the same. Just like he fears for his own, standing stock still on the porch of this tiny, way too angry man.

He’s about to leave the basket of chocolates at the entrance, when a voice calls out to him from the other side of the door “Keep them, or I’ll throw them in the ocean too.”

Shouyou scrambles away and onto his broom as quickly as humanly possible. Kenma, carefully hidden in his bag, tuts at him.

*

He flies up, up. Legs propelling him towards the sky. And it’s odd, but Shouyou swears he can feel _the stranger’s_ stare on his skin, weighting him down.

He spotted him on his way back to Karasuno. Saw his raven black hair first, starkly standing out against the bright yellow sand. Then, he recognized the piercing blue-eyed stare and, lastly, he noticed his easel, balanced precariously on an expanse of rocks. Oddly enough, Shouyou’s heart is currently thumping faster in his chest.

He opts to take his time with the strip of distance that separates him from the stranger. And if he attempts multiple pirouettes (some more successful than others) it’s surely not due to a set of deep blue eyes.

He just wants to practice his somersaults, that’s all.

Eventually, he comes back down to find that the stranger is indeed staring at him.

By now, Shouyou is used to the looks of unbridled wonder the townspeople give him. Even those few that dislike him—such as the grumpy Tsukishima—can never quite hide their initial awe that comes with witnessing the impossible become possible.

That’s exactly what Shouyou expects to find on the artist’s—at least, that’s what he assumes the stranger is, what with the easel and all—face. Yet, once he’s lowered himself to shore-level, Shouyou realizes that the stranger’s eyes aren’t alight with wonder; instead, he’s… scowling. Not scowling right _at him_ per se, but at the basket of chocolates, hanging crookedly on the topmost part of his broomstick.

“Are you sure you’re a witch?” He chides, eyes flickering from Shouyou to the canvas in front of him, like he doesn’t care enough to keep his focus on him. The Witch has barely any time to sputter indignantly, before the stranger pounces again. “You really suck at flying.” He states, matter-of-factly. Like he’s truly unaffected by the presence of a real-life witch hovering right next to him.

“I do not!”

“You do.” The stranger’s eyes no longer bounce from Shouyou to his canvas, now entirely fixated on mixing up colors on his palette. His eyebrows crinkle with concentration as his nimble fingers work the paints quickly—conjuring shades that mere seconds ago Shouyou didn’t think were possible to recreate.

“You can’t know that.” Shouyou insists, words muffled by his pursed lips. Despite his wounded Witch pride, he can’t find the strength to craft a better retort. “Also, you can’t tell something like that to random people you’ve just met, it’s rude!”

Hearing Goshiki question his legitimacy as a Witch had been fine; challenging, even. But to have a stranger—who doesn’t sound, nor looks like a fellow witch—criticize him… it stings.

“But we’ve met already, plus—” the stranger says, pausing to add more paint to his palette “You’re the talk of town.”

Shouyou’s broom betrays him and he loses balance, barely catching himself before an almost inevitable plunge into the water. Kenma’s furry head pops up from his bag just enough for Shouyou to see his narrowed, angry eyes staring right at him. “Sorry, Kenma.”

The thought that, not only his town talks about him, but that this stranger—this rude, yet compelling stranger—was interested enough in Shouyou to take notice of it, is overwhelmingly heartening.

“See, you can barely balance on it,” the stranger comments, between a flick of an orange-tinged brush and another. “I’m also not sure about those convulsions you did in the air,”

Shouyou’s ready to snap that _those were almost perfect somersaults, thank you very much,_ but Kenma is still staring at him and, under his cat’s warning graze, all Shouyou retorts is: “I am a perfectly good witch.”

“Alright,” another brush stroke, this time of a stark sky blue “then what can you do—aside from flying.” He adds, before Shouyou even has the opportunity to say anything. Which is bad, given that flying is _indeed_ Shouyou’s one and only specialty.

“Well, how do you know I can’t do anything else!” Shouyou sputters, because he will not, under any circumstance, admit that—if the month of training in herbology with Yachi is anything to go by—the stranger might be right. Flying is what he does best, because it’s always been _his_ thing.

Sensing his turmoil, his broom matches his rising temper, tossing him up and down; making his words a bit shakier as Shouyou attempts to threateningly swear that: “I could hoax you right now!”

“I’d like to see you try,” The blue-eyed stranger seems wholly unimpressed, then, for good measure, he adds: “dumbass.”

“I’m going to hoax you right now!” Repeats Shouyou, swinging his legs back and forth, trying to counterbalance his broom’s now frantic movements. The stranger seems unbothered by this entire conversation—a stark contrast to the Witch’s fervor.

“If you knew how to do anything else,” the painter says, matter-of-factly, as he adds a flick of orange to his canvas “you wouldn’t have opened a delivery service.”

“How do you even know about that.” The artist halts his movements for the first time ever since their conversation began and Shouyou can see him frown from behind his easel.

“I told you, everyone in town talks about it.” And Shouyou’s heart really, truly, does not skip a beat yet again.

“You really go into town? I assumed you lived off of berries and, I don’t know, tree bark!”

The stranger looks unconvinced by his joke and, for the first time since Shouyou glided towards him, he pins his eyes in the Witch’s own. “You can go now, I’m working.”

“Waa, that’s so rude!” whines Shouyou, under yet another unimpressed blue-eyed glare, “Alright I’ll go,”

Shouyou makes an attempt at steering his broom away, yet, the magical tool doesn’t seem willing to budge. He tries to concentrate onto the town’s towers, that sparkle under the sun. Tries to envision the bakery, to spur his broom to move. Yet, he stays planted right on his spot.

Kenma huffs disappointedly, then points his little head towards the guy. He can already hear the scolding Kenma will put him through once home (and Kenma, consistent as he is, does just that; for hours on end all that the Witch hears is strings of “ _You’re losing control of your broom, Shouyou_ ” and “ _I really hate those in-air convulsions_ ”).

“Stupid broom,” Shouyou scoffs, trying to move his legs with more vehemence, in a futile attempt to propel himself forward. “Why won’t you listen to me?” In that moment, struggling while hovered mid-air over crashing waves, Shouyou’s memory fails to remind him that a Witch’s broom is simply a mere reflection of one’s will. For the time being, though, Shouyou just forfeits and stops fighting it.

Luckily, the stranger is so wholly enraptured by his painting, that he’s most likely not privy to Shouyou’s small battle of wills. More so, the artist is so deeply in his own world, that he jumps as the Witch’s voice thrills a: “So… What’s your name?”

“Why should I tell you?” He immediately snaps back.

 _Because otherwise I won’t be able to leave,_ thinks Shouyou hopelessly. What he says, instead, is: “Why shouldn’t you? You said it yourself, I’ve got a delivery service. I need to know as many people as I can!”

As soon as it’s out of his mouth, he realizes just how bizarre it sounds, but by then it’s too late and, before the artist can have the time to retort just that, Shouyou pounces. He swings his legs again—this time meeting no resistance from the broom—and, quite literally, flies as close to the painter as possible.

His nose almost touching that of the painter.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” an impish smile spreads across his face, twisting his features “Unless, you really _are_ afraid I’ll hoax you.”

This seems to get a rise out of the stranger, seeming to promptly respond to Shouyou’s challenging tone.

“Of course I’m not, idiot.” Yet, Shouyou gauges how he doesn’t seem willing to give in.

That’s when he remembers the stranger’s curious stare at Yamaguchi’s toffees. And, because Shouyou’s never been above coercion, he lets go of his broomstick to reach for the basket—under Kenma’s terrified howls of “ _Keep your hands on the broom, Shouyou._ ”.

The Witch hands the basket to the blue-eyed stranger. “They’re milk chocolates, the best in town.”

And, as it seems, the painter himself is not above being bought out, because he reaches for the chocolates with a curious glimmer in his eyes. Then, way quieter than he’s been the entire time, he says: “Kageyama Tobio.”

*

The third time Shouyou meets Kageyama Tobio is weeks later, when he’s sent on a delivery to _his_ house.

The Witch hasn’t been back to this side of Karasuno ever since the day with the basket of chocolates and the smell of paint mixing with the crisp sea air. Now, he’s coming back with a basketful of paints and art supplies—dropped off that very morning by an extremely stunned and flustered Tanaka (“ _Ki-Kiyoko-san asked me to ask you to ask—no, that’s not it, Kiyoko-san asked me to… Look, just take this_ ”).

Shouyou’s sister, Natsu, specialized in herbology, reviving (dead) flowers with kind words and pats on their damaged stem. Once, Shouyou saw her revive an entire crop of vegetables with only a few days of careful, meticulous work. The image of its striking metamorphosis—from ruined, lifeless fields into bright, flourishing ones—mystified him as one of the greatest wonders of life.

However, Natsu’s own miracle seems trivial compared to what lies in front of Shouyou right now. The sight of which so jarring, that the Delivery Witch is forced to pick up his own map—one that he hasn’t needed in a month—to double check he hasn’t gotten the road, or the addressee, mixed up. But no, he definitely is where he needs to be.

The gravelly road, the fallen branches under his feet, the seagulls overhead: they’ve all stayed the same. Except, everything else hasn’t.

Sure, Kageyama’s house is still carefully rooted in the center of the clearing. Its roof is still slightly lopsided. But what had been the gloomy hut Shouyou had recoiled from, has now undergone a revival more wondrous than anything Natsu’s ever accomplished.

There’s canvasses and easels everywhere: in front of the house, folded against the door and windows. From his spot on the road, Shouyou thinks there might even be one on the roof—he barely manages to squash the urge to jump back on his broom and immediately go check it out.

Some canvasses are big, some are smaller. Some have yet to be touched, maintaining their stark white, but the majority of them have been painted in the most different ways, with the most different styles. What equates them, thought, is their colors: bright blues, stark oranges and electric purples.

Suddenly, Shouyou’s delivery makes a lot more sense, because what’s filling the basket and satchel to the brim is bundles of brightly, almost obnoxiously so, colored supplies.

“Took you long enough.” The voice, coming from above, catches Shouyou entirely off guard. He instinctively raises his head to follow the sound and he’s instantly met with the sight of Kageyama, sketchpad in hand, impeccably seated on the edge of the rooftop. His back leaning on the chimney. All around him, crows stand perfectly still, almost like frozen in time.

Something about that sight sets Shouyou’s cheeks aflame: it’s in his straight, severe composure mixing with the careless, rebellious choice to sit on the roof.

“Did you get lost?”

“I did not!” But his squeak sounds petulant even to Shouyou’s own ears. “I learnt all the airways perfectly, thank you very much.”

Kageyama grunts in response, his initial interest in Shouyou seemingly already lost. Instead, his eyes, now fixated on his sketch, quickly dart from the paper to the crows, then back to the drawing.

Shouyou stands there, fidgeting slightly in his place, hands itching to grab his broom and fly towards the roof. Yet, before he can succumb to his own yearning, Kageyama settles his pencil down and, with a flick of his hand, scatters the crows. Effortlessly, he grabs the side of the room—connecting the chimney to the house—and skillfully scales down it. Shouyou can’t help but observe, his mouth hanging open, Kageyama’s careful and practiced movements as he holds onto the right bricks in his descent.

He finally reaches the ground, slightly sweaty but overall untarnished and _oh_ , Shouyou thinks, Kageyama is tall. So much so that he has to tilt his head upwards to look into his eyes—not that’s any problem whatsoever, he’s pretty sure looking into your client’s eyes isn’t a job requirement of his.

He meekly follows Kageyama inside the house and the only thing that shakes him out of his own reverie is the sight of it. Just like the outside has drastically changed, the interior also seems to have appeared out of a parallel universe: what had looked like an indistinguishable mass of blacks and greys is now filled with light and, Shouyou would dare think, life.

All of the windows are open, letting in the pleasant sea breeze coming from the beach. The walls seem newly painted—a bright light blue that brings radiance and freshness to the small home.

And then there’s the art supplies: they’re everywhere. Shouyou can spot at least a couple on top of every surface, on the sofa, on the floor, even on the windowsills. Everything is either covered in art or art supplies and Shouyou can’t help the squeak that he lets out as he nears a canvass of a bright blue sky and painted orange wings.

“Don’t touch anything, it’s fresh paint—” Kageyama says, busy pushing art materials to the edge of his only table, “Here, place the _stuff_ here.”

But Shouyou doesn’t seem to listen to him—suddenly, the heavy weight of the supplies is forgotten, as he runs up and down the house, staring at one painting, then the other.

“Waah, Kageyama,” he says, forcefully holding himself back from sweeping his fingertips over a painting of an aerial view of the ocean, the half-day sun perfectly glimmering atop the waves. “You didn't seem so taken by art last time we saw each other, _what happened?_ ”

Sure, Kageyama had been sitting on the beach with an easel, he could’ve fooled just anyone not willing to truly _look_. Yet, Shouyou hadn’t felt any of the fervor that is now surrounding him in canvas-form. Kageyama doesn't answer him, but he doesn't deny it either and, Shouyou guesses, that’s enough of an answer in itself.

He’s about to push and pry some more—what with curiosity being his very own mortal sin—but then Shouyou raises his head, and he catches the look on Kageyama’s face. One that he can’t quite decipher, but that convinces him to let the subject go all the same.

Instead, he walks to the roughly tidied table and unceremoniously begins dumping the deliveries onto it.

“Careful, you idiot,” barks Kageyama, seemingly revitalized by the chance to criticize Shouyou. “You’ll ruin them.”

Despite his preaching, though, Shouyou finds out soon enough that Kageyama doesn’t seem to be acquainted with gentleness either. The two of them work on dropping everything they can fit onto the small table, brushes and paint tubes loudly clacking against the surface. When pastels and oil paints threaten to fall off the jumbled stack they've created, the two of them turn to the kitchen's tabletops; and when even those overflow, Shouyou and Kageyama, bickering and arguing, decide to shift their ministrations to every single viable surface in the house.

It’s as Shouyou is trying to masterfully pile two old watercolor cases (“ _Put those up there, I don’t need them anymore_ ” “ _Don’t be such a tyrant, stupid Kageyama_!”) on top of a kitchen cabinet, that he hears Kageyama sigh, then, in a small voice, he finally answers Shouyou’s initial question: “I got inspired,”

It sounds like Kageyama might have something more to say, balancing on the edge of a cliff, unsure whether to jump or go back. That’s how they teach you to fly, Shouyou can’t help think. And, while he always jumped without hesitation, he remembers the uncertainty in his sister’s eyes when he himself taught her how to fly. He awaits Kageyama’s words with baited breath and, when they do not come, he tries not to feel too disappointed. They go back to putting supplies away.

By the time they're done, Kageyama's hut positively looks like the aftermath of an art hurricane. Shouyou doesn’t know how long they’ve been unpacking supplies and storing them away, but he estimates it’s been long—longer than he anticipated it would take—because the sun has been completely obscured. As he watches outside the window in awe, something prickles at the edge of Shouyou’s brain: the knowledge that, the time spent here, has been one of the most pleasant ever since he’s come to Karasuno. Then, the thought twists and takes a different shape; something scary and uncharted, something that the Witch is not quite ready to digest yet.

The thought he doesn’t comprehend yet is this: it's easy to get lost with Kageyama.

Instead, what Shouyou settles on is that, between the easy banter and the manual task, he’s lost track of time. He’s about to say something along those lines out loud, when a roiling thunder stirs him out of his non-thoughts.

“Kageyama!” Shouyou shouts, dashing to the nearest window. “It’s raining!”

“Not yet,” Kageyama corrects him after a quick glance. “You better hurry up, then.”

“I can’t just go now! I’ll get caught up in the storm!” Maybe storm is a tad dramatic do describe the incoming rain, but, whether Kageyama spots his over-exaggeration or not, Shouyou can’t tell.

What he can tell, instead, is Kageyama’s hesitation. He doesn't miss the twitch in his hands as he releases the pastel he was holding, the restiveness of his gaze as he eyes his new supplies, then the sky outside. Hinata knows that look all too well, it's the same one he used to get back home, when all he wanted to do was jump on his broom and fly. It's the restlessness that comes with your endowment, the physical need to seek further, the hunger to do more.

“I promise I’m going to be real quiet,” he begs, slightly jumping up and down in his place with nervous energy “you won’t even notice I’m here.”

Kageyama doesn’t seem convinced, eyes boring a hole into the wall right behind Shouyou. Then, a loud thunder booms and, despite his intense stare, he too gets startled by it.

Shouyou witnesses his change of mind happen right before his very eyes: Kageyama’s stormy blue eyes squint towards the nearest windows, almost cursing the weather for the burden that is Hinata Shouyou; then, he frowns and right when Shouyou is beginning to lose hope—already envisioning himself trying to dodge one thunderbolt after the other—Kageyama turns to look at him.

“Stay,” he simply tells him, but his face scrunches up like Sugawara’s does when he tastes his lemon tarte to find he has—again—forgot the sugar. “Just don’t get in my way and don’t touch anything.”

They now stand at an impasse: Shouyou, in the middle of the room, completely stunned and Kageyama, awkwardly gripping a paintbrush and just… staring at the floor. And, as Shouyou takes in his posture and his almost blushing cheeks, it occurs to him that, possibly, the artist has never had anyone over. It’s that very thought that snaps the Witch into action.

He walks towards the kitchen like he owns the place (he _has_ been fiddling with the cupboards and shelves and tables for the past hour, after all). Opens the cupboard he remembers filling with bright oil pastels mere minutes before.

“You can draw or paint or,” he says, threading off—his knowledge of art mediums already running thin. He waves in Kageyama’s direction with one hand (almost to say you: get what I mean), “Your art stuff, anyway. I don’t mind.” He concludes, beginning to rummage inside what looks to be the tea cupboard—now almost filled to the brim in art supplies; he pushes to the side one box labeled _AOBA GAZAI_ in bold, turquoise lettering and snatches up a bag of leaves instead.

His little speech seems to have done the trick because, when Shouyou turns around—victoriously holding a brand-new packet of preserved herbs—Kageyama has already grabbed the only stool in the room and seated himself in front of one of the many easels that litter the house.

With the storm thundering outside, Shouyou brews a warm, fragrant tea. Adding even more aroma with one of his mother’s specialty magical tricks. Immediately, the scent of spicy _kuwacha_ fills the room and Shouyou’s whoops in excitement as he witnesses his very first successful attempt at magical brewing. Eyes sparkling with pride, he looks to Kageyama to gauge his reaction, for the aroma of kuwacha and magic has to be something incredibly novel and, perhaps, even overwhelming. Kageyama doesn’t even look up once.

Not even when Shouyou, after carefully weaving himself through canvasses and frames, settles a cup of tea on the nearest surface (a windowsill, by his easel).

With nowhere else to sit, and Kageyama truly taking his own words to heart and not paying him any attention, Shouyou walks back to the table, pushes some supplies to the side and hops onto it. Then, the Witch grabs his cup of tea and revels in his feeling of achievement. _Take_ _that, Goshiki._

When eventually that gets boring, Shouyou turns his attention to the window and realizes he’s got front row seats to the storm raging outside and, right next to it, to Kageyama as well—not that he stares at him, because he certainly doesn’t. Just like he certainly does not notice the small frown that appears on Kageyama’s face when, after turning towards the window for inspiration, Kageyama notices the fuming cup of kuwacha waiting for him. And Shouyou _certainly_ does not notice the confusion with which the artist whips his head around to stare at him—this time he truly does not notice it, because he’s busy hiding his blushing face behind his own mug.

Eventually, his tea grows cold and the storm becomes so daunting and heavy that the outside world becomes a blur of dark blues and nothing more. He fiddles with a couple of art supplies, swings his feet back and forth like a little kid, counts to fifty in his head, but nothing helps keep at bay his mounting restlessness. He wishes he could grab his broom and fly—not for a delivery, just cruise around without a purpose. Just for the sake of flying.

By the time he’s counted all of the art supplies piled on the very table he’s sitting on, he’s so restless that he can’t contain himself anymore, he asks another potentially stupid question: “Kageyama! do you really need all of these paints?!"

Kageyama blinks his deep blue eyes at his canvas and Shouyou, for a second, wonders if he will even obtain a reply. And, when he does, he’s not only taken aback by it, but also by the earnestness in his voice when the artist grumbles that: "Mine weren't the right colors."

Shouyou does a double take at the supplies and he sees it: the stark contrast between the old ones, of dull, unassuming colors and the newer ones, electric blues and purples, bright oranges and yellows. He’s about to comment on his incredible breakthrough, when Kageyama beats him to the punch.

“Where’s your cat?” The words seem to jump out of the artist’s mouth without him actually wishing for it because, if anything, out of the two, it’s Kageyama who seems more taken about by his sudden question.

“My cat,” Shouyou says wistfully, “Kenma doesn’t enjoy flying all day, so he stays at the bakery.”

He forces his voice to sound cheery and light. _Of course Kenma wouldn’t want to fly_ , he remind himself, _it’s a miracle the tabby cat even put up with it for so long_. Shouyou knows that, he’s listened to Sugawara’s reassurances enough to have the words float in his head: _Kenma’s happier like this._ Still, Shouyou can’t help but feel the bitterness that comes with letting something familiar go, even though you know it’s for the better. Kenma, who spent all of his cat-life by his side, asked to be left behind. It does sting, even thought Shouyou does not want to admit it.

“I don’t blame him. With the way you fly, I wouldn’t enjoy it either.” says Kageyama, hands moving in a sweeping brushstroke like he didn’t just insult his guest. Yet again.

And what technically, logically, should be a remark that adds to an already existing wound, somehow eases the pain of it—if only slightly. Kageyama’s bluntness, straightforwardness, acts like a soothing balm because, immediately, Shouyou perks up.

“What’s that supposed to mean.” He complains, his voice high. Yet, he’s already looking like wilted wildflowers do once they’re under Natsu’s care: slowly, cautiously perking up. Revitalizing themselves.

“That you suck.” Kageyama says, a challenging glimmer in his eyes.

“I should’ve dropped all your fancy paints in the ocean, stupid Kageyama.”

The artist schools his expression into an unimpressed frown, but Shouyou doesn’t miss the way his hands instinctively reach for the closest pallet, slender fingers possessively draping across the wooden box. Shouyou goads on his win.

Yet another thunderous rumble shakes the house, this one so powerful to jostle Kageyama’s water container, now painted a light shade of orange.

“How long is this going to take,” Shouyou whines. “I had another delivery after this one.”

“Why are you asking me, you’re the Witch here. Shouldn’t you know?” Kageyama snaps, voice a stark contrast to his careful, gentle brushstrokes. He seems to mull over Shouyou’s words before saying, “And why are you complaining, you’re the one who slacked off; dumb Hinata.”

Shouyou spits out a retort and, just like that, they settle in a natural back and forth. The rumbling of the storm becomes mere white noise. It’s relaxing and oddly comforting. Kageyama now looks completely at ease, painting and spewing critiques towards Shouyou; the latter, not to be outdone, retorting with witty, if childish, remarks. A strange sensation fills Shouyou’s body, a sinking realization that he pushes further down. He attempts to ignore it, tries to pummel ahead of it, not ready to face its deeper implication. Yet, he can feel it crawl in his mind: _ease_. For the first time ever since coming to Karasuno, he’s feeling ease.

Magic is a fastidious, finicky thing. It can improve with time and effort and training, but—like his mother used to remind him every time he attempted to brew a healing potion—it comes easy. Magic is instinctive and temperamental. It’s fussy and capricious when left to its own devices, but a Witch’s magic should come easy. Easy like curling up under warm covers after a freezing day. Easy like reaching for your favorite tale when you’re feeling like the weight of the world is too much. Easy like banter and tea brewing and flying.

_How long had he been forgetting what it felt like?_

“Oi, dumbass.” Kageyama calls out to him. Just like waking up from a vivid dream, Shouyou’s eyes slowly refocus onto what stands before him. The first thing he notices is the feeble light coming from outside, the encapsulating darkness is no more and, although the sun is setting and it’s growing darker by the minute, he at least can now _see_ the sun.

The second thing he notices is Kageyama’s painting, it’s in no way done—half of the canvas still starkly blank—but, on the upper right corner, Shouyou can spot the beginning of vividly bright feathers.

“The storm is letting up,” Kageyama tells him, head tilting towards the window to further drive home the statement. Then, grumbling, almost like he’s saying it against his will, he adds: “If you don’t get a move on, you might get caught up in it.”

Shouyou hastily picks his bag up, maybe a little too quickly than needed, and gets ready to leave.

Outside, the air is damp with the aftermath of the storm, but it’s pleasant, since the humidity carries the fresh smells of rain and ocean. Kageyama, shockingly, lends him a black cloak—to which Shouyou doesn’t know whether to tease him or thank him. In the end, he does neither, choosing instead to bow his head slightly.

Perhaps it’s the air, still heavy with rain and moisture, but flying away from Kageyama’s cabin feels as difficult and challenging as the first time he learnt to fly. The broom does not cooperate, his will being overpowered by the magical object’s own agency.

Underneath the once again swelling up clouds, Shouyou and magic clash against one another like old foes. When Shouyou attempts to swerve right to surpass a flock of birds, the broom forcefully pulls him to his left. When he tries to lower his height just enough not to hit a branch, the broom shoots upwards towards the blackening clouds. The more he tugs and pushes, the more the broom and its magic respond in kind.

He hears his mother’s guiding words, echoing in his mind as loud as the rumbling thunder around him:

 _Shou-chan, you don’t need to think about it_. _You could even do it with your eyes closed._

But, right then and there, those encouraging promises feel more like a taunt.

If flying should come inevitably, instinctually, why does it now feel like something is clipping his wings one painstaking feather at a time? If it’s so easy, why is he struggling so?

It’s during this exasperating tug-of-war that the raindrops start to pour.

*

By the time he reaches the upper part of town, all of his clothes are drenched and weighting on his frame. He sticks the landing by mere luck.

*

He’s so tired, worn out like he’s never felt before, that even the smell of bread that wafts towards him once he walks into the bakery doesn’t reinvigorate him one bit.

*

He barely remembers Sugawara and Daichi rushing at his side, asking questions and fussing over his dripping clothes, his tired expression. Somehow, he manages to swerve both of them. Heads to his barn.

*

Kenma is waiting outside his door, golden eyes sparkling as he meows petulantly.

“Yes, yes, I’m late.” Grumbles Shouyou, decidedly not in the mood for a scolding. Kenma, though, does not seem to care as he circles his legs, meowing insistently. He walks inside.

*

He absentmindedly registers the presence of another cat, black and twice Kenma’s size, staring intensely at him with scrutinizing eyes.

“Do you want me to feed this stray, Kenma?” he asks, laying on his bed, his head throbbing. “C’mon, don’t give me the silent treatment now.”

Kenma meowls, but does not talk.

*

Every bone in his body feels like it has gone under Sugawara’s rolling pin, several times. Moving hurts and his limbs feel both so heavy and, ironically so, inexistent—like the little gremlins his father told him about came and stole them, leaving only jelly behind.

He feels tired, hot, cold. He feels everything and nothing at once.

When he tries to sniff the usual baked-goods aromas he delights himself with every morning, he smells nothing. Only triggers a coughing fit. And then another.

Getting out of bed feels like the single most difficult thing he’s ever had the displeasure to be subjected to. He roams his room in search for Kenma—and for the black cat, he reminds himself though blurry thoughts—but the tabby cat and his friend are nowhere to be found.

He hurries—stumbles, really—out of the door, ready for deliveries and he must look exactly how he feels (that means: terrible) for Suga-san does a double, then triple take before placing the usual pastries in his orange satchel. Shouyou thrusts open the door and croaks out a goodbye, surprising even himself with the roughness of his voice. Nevertheless, he hoists his satchel on his shoulder and runs a few laps in the square to fully wake himself up.

When he mounts his broom, he feels fine.

He crouches down, readies his muscles and broom to spring up. Neither of the two feels in optimal form, but Shouyou does not pay it any mind.

He crouches down, takes a deep breath (one that hurts his chest a little too much to be considered normal) and leaps up; wills his broom to fly.

The broom does not listen.

Shouyou jumps again, muscles aching now. He feels so hot, sweating from the effort and the panic building in his chest.

He jumps, but he does not fly.

The broom does not listen and Shouyou, exhausted, hits the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent an entire week trying to get that second paragraph (Hinata’s first brush—ha ha I made an art pun, get it? —with Kageyama’s cottage) to sound decent and I’m still not happy with it. Thus, if you hear screaming, don’t worry, it’s just me.  
> Hopefully it didn’t bother you all too much, I tried my best, but I'm really not satisfied.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback would be greatly appreciated!  
> Also, English isn't my first language, so if you find any mistakes, do let me know!


End file.
